#noth carolina state parks

[slayfk]

I just saw your post about western North Carolina. I've been following the situation (mostly through social media) and I'm devastated. This part of the country has always been one of my very favorites to visit (I'm in Georgia) and I want to help if you know of any mutual aid or organizations? I donated to the Red Cross but thought I would ask if you had any suggestions. I'm so sorry this is happening to y'all

i included resources and donation links at the bottom of this post

the great smoky mountains (appalachians) are the most visited national park in the united states, having received over 13 million visitors in 2023. despite this, its residents are hated or at least largely ignored by the majority of the united states. they are portrayed as hillbillies and conservatives that deserve nobody’s time. this is far from the truth. appalachians have been mistreated by the government and general populace for generations. they are given next to nothing and expected to be able to survive that way. it’s disgusting.

everyone who is not from appalachia , i recommend reading more about just how much it and its residents has been abused by the united states government. even reading through the wikipedia article on the social and economic stratification in appalachia can be helpful in understanding how fucked up this area has become due to the abuse of capitalism. i urge everyone to do some research on the coal mining industry when you have the time. not many people know just how bad it really was, and just how much it’s affected the mountains and the people in them.

here are some interesting articles i found on a quick search:

“Coal Mining in Appalachia” by The Moonlit Road

“A History of Appalachian Coal Mines” by Kenneth Lasson

“Coal’s Legacy in Appalachia: Lands, Waters, and People” by Carl E. Zipper and Jeff Skousen

“Nearly 60 years after the war on poverty, why is Appalachia still struggling?” by Dr. Abigail R. Hall Blanco

“Human Rights in Appalachia: Socioeconomic and Health Disparities in Appalachia” by Evan Smith

“Passive, Poor, and White? What People Keep Getting Wrong About Appalachia” by Elizabeth Catte

“Culture, Poverty, and Education in Appalachian Kentucky” by Constance Elam

[reality-detective]

Did you know the Vanderbilt and Cecil families owned Ashville?

The Vanderbilt family, specifically the descendants of George Washington Vanderbilt II, have a long-standing connection to Asheville, North Carolina. George Vanderbilt built the Biltmore Estate, a 250-room chateau-style mansion, in the late 1800s. The estate, located in Asheville, was his summer home and a testament to his love for the city and its natural beauty.

The Cecil Family's Involvement

The Vanderbilt family's connection to Asheville continued through the generations. In 1924, George Vanderbilt's daughter, Cornelia Stuyvesant Vanderbilt, married John Francis Amherst Cecil, and the couple had two children. Their son, William Amherst Vanderbilt Cecil Jr., is the current president and CEO of The Biltmore Company, which owns and operates the Biltmore Estate.

The Company's Evolution

In 1999, The Biltmore Company formed a new business group, which expanded the estate's operations beyond tourism and hospitality. Today, the company is a privately held corporation, still owned by the Cecil family, and employs over 2,400 people in Western North Carolina.

Asheville's Economic Impact

The Biltmore Estate and its affiliated businesses have a significant economic impact on Asheville and the surrounding region. The estate attracts millions of visitors each year, generating revenue for local businesses, hotels, and restaurants. The company's agricultural and forestry operations also contribute to the local economy.

In Summary

While the DuPont family is not directly involved in owning Asheville, NC, the Vanderbilt family, specifically the Cecil family, has a long and storied connection to the city through the Biltmore Estate. The estate's ownership and operations remain in the hands of the Cecil family, who continue to preserve and promote Asheville's natural beauty and cultural heritage.

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Wait there's more 👇

DuPont State Forest, made famous as the setting for the movies The Hunger Games and The Last of the Mohicans, is home to amazing waterfalls, mountain lakes and hiking trails. DuPont State Forest is located in Western North Carolina near the South Carolina state line, and is less than an hour drive (40 miles) south of Asheville.

Curious has anyone looked at NC governor Roy cooper's political investments from the Vanderbilt family? Cecil family? Or Dupont family? He's working in the heart of their investments...

Interesting this article coming up with the lieutenant gov is criticizing his efforts with the after math of hurricane Helene...

Read 🤔

NOTHING will be left unknown, EVERYTHING will be revealed and NOTHING will be hidden and remain a secret. 🤔

[morbidology]

Growing up in the projects in New York, Jonathan Luna always dreamed of going to college and making his family proud. He graduated from Fordham University and the law school at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. He eventually settled down in Elkridge, Baltimore, where he got married and had two sons while working as an Assistant United States Attorney.

The 4th of December, 2003, started just like any other day for Jonathan. He kissed his family goodbye before departing for work. He had been working on a trial which involved two men who were suspected in running a drug ring. One of the men was also facing a murder charge. Jonathan had spent the entire evening working on the case and left a voice message to a co-worker at approximately 9PM that night, saying he was ready to go home and that he would see him the following morning.

They were going to offer the two men a plea deal and Jonathan said he was going to work on it at home throughout the night so it would be ready for the morning. According to the clocking out system in his office car park, Jonathan didn’t leave the officer until 11:38PM, leaving behind his phone and glasses, which he needed to drive.

What happened next is shrouded in speculation.

At around 1AM, Jonathan’s car entered Delaware where $200 was lifted from an ATM. He then crossed into New Jersey and on to Pennsylvania at around 4AM. His E-Z Pass was used on the I-95 into Delaware but after this, he started to purchase toll tickets. His car was then parked behind a Sensenig & Weaver in Denver, Pennsylvania. At around 5:30AM, a worker of Sensenig & Weaver arrived to discover the discarded car with blood smeared all over the door and the front of the car.

When the worker peered into the car window, he found a large puddle of blood on the back seat and back footwell. The car was partially in a creek and underneath the car, the worker discovered Jonathan’s bloody body. He had sustained 36 stab wounds with his own penknife.

The pathologist that performed the autopsy said that Jonathan's hands had been “shredded” and that his scrotum and throat had both been slashed before he drowned to death in the creek. Inside the car, detectives found that the purchased toll tickets had blood smeared on them, indicating that he was already injured when purchasing the tickets. Additionally, the puddle of blood in the back seat indicated that he hadn’t been driving the car, but somebody else.

While the death was initially ruled as a homicide, “law enforcement sources” soon began to speculate that he had taken his life and thus a smear campaign on Jonathan’s reputation was born. It was soon reported that Jonathan had most likely been involved in a robbery case in which $36,000 went missing. The Baltimore Sun implied that Jonathan was involved in the robbery and had ended his life because he feared losing his job. Everybody that knew Jonathan had nothing but pleasant words to say about him and found the allegations to be “a well timed hit job on Luna’s reputation.” The FBI ascertained that Jonathan had ended his own life but the local Lancaster counter authorities were adamant that he had been murdered.

What happened to Jonathan Luna from the moment he left his place of employment until he ended up stabbed and slashed in a murky creek still remains a mystery.

While the FBI believes he ended his own life, this leaves too many question. For one, how could he have driven approximately 95 miles without his glasses? Why did he switch from using his E-Z Pass to toll tickets? Why would he have stabbed himself 36 times as well as slashing his scrotum, throat, and hands? What would motivate him to end his life when he was known by all to be an upbeat, full of life, family man? The case still remains open with a $100,000 reward for information leading to a conviction.

[theheartofappalachia]

Here I am, sitting in a parking lot writing about the past few days. My mamaw just got out of surgery and is still in ICU and thank the gods for the hospital having power. I came up here to get gas, signal and charge my phone and hopped on tumblr and reddit for a few just trying to get my mind off things....

And what do I see? Politics about this disaster and people only caring about Asheville fucking everywhere. Listen, Asheville wasn't the only place hit in this storm and North Carolina wasn't the only state and for those of us in Virginia, Tennessee and southern West Virginia it's starting to get real goddamn irritating seeing yall only talk about North Carolina and even then you're only talking about it because Asheville is an urban tourist center therefore it's getting media coverage.

Fuck those poor bastards that live up the hollers and in the hills away from town right? 37 trees. I've cut 37 trees off of houses in the past 4 days(one of them being my own) and while the power flickered on for a second today, it's still out. People's food is ruined, we're shitting in holes in the ground because indoor plumbing doesn't work without power(and hauling buckets of water to flush isn't feasible for some people). You think we can afford to just replace a fridge or freezer full of food? It's not that simple, not in this economy.

Insurance? Yeah we live in old houses that Insurance won't cover to begin with unless we do thousands of dollars worth of upgrades and then many who have insurance are being denied. Yall say FEMA covers it? What a joke. FEMA is great for what it can do but it doesn't replace houses, nor does it give out lots of money.

Nobody cares about your fucking politics. I haven't seen one politician in the mud with us. Nobody cares about voting right now. This isn't the time regardless of what you idiots say. Read the fucking room. We deserve this because of how we vote? Fuck you, again. Stop being high and mighty and come help instead of sitting back with your vape in your hand going "Kamala will fix this" or "Trump will send all the aid" or "Biden is going to rescue everyone". Newsflash, none of them give a shit.

People are legitimately downvoting those of us who live in these areas on r/Appalachia because we're saying stop bringing politics into it or please stop saying you're upset that your vacation spot is gone. Ya'll tag shit Appalachia left and right now yet you didn't give a fuck about us before unless it was to say how pretty our leaves are as you go camping for a weekend and leave your trash laying around....and you'll forget about us the next time a big news story hits.

I've gotta get away from social media for a while. What I thought would take my mind off the roughest time of my life did nothing but make me hate people.

[sissylittlefeather]

Anybody else love Tulsa McLean?

Home Sweet Oklahoma

A/N: This is a one-shot featuring one of my favorite Elvis movie characters from his 1960 movie GI Blues. I loooooove Tulsa and GI Blues for lots of reasons, but one of them is because I was born and raised in Oklahoma. I just couldn't help myself 😂. (Also please forgive any inaccuracies in my German, the geography, the time period, the military, etc. I did my best here.)

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, masturbation (male), kissing, cussing, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex, and I think that's about it. It's pretty fluffy.

Word count: 6.3kish (I know it's long, but the backstory is important and it's a slow burn...)

When your father was transferred to Germany in 1956, the last thing you wanted to do was leave the states. You were just about to graduate from high school, so you argued and begged to be left behind. Of course, without a wedding ring on your finger, your father wasn't letting you live anywhere but where he was.

You never dreamed you'd love it here so much. Now, you've been here for four years and you've built a pretty good life. Still, sometimes you missed being back home. Not that you'd ever really had a place to call "home". Being a military brat wasn't easy and you'd never lived anywhere longer than 4 years at a time. Most places you only stayed 2, except for the stint in Colorado where your younger brother was born and the stint in Oklahoma where the twins were born. The time in Oklahoma was particularly memorable for you. You started 5th grade there and stayed until the summer before 9th grade. You were actually there long enough to make some good friends and experience your first dabbling in love. It was nothing serious, of course, but you'd never forget how he kissed you behind the swings at the park near your house. When you moved to North Carolina that summer, you were devastated.

Still, that was a long time ago, and living in Germany had changed you. You were a grown woman now, complete with a job singing in a night club. Your dad didn't love it, but being 22, you were more free to do as you pleased. And you typically did exactly that.

******

Tulsa, Cookie, and Rick were at the train station preparing for their transfer to Frankfurt. When they met the soldiers who just came from there, the first thing they wanted to know about was the girls. Where were the prettiest ones and what were they like? Rick was only concerned about one girl, Marla, who he had met and fallen in love with a year ago. Tulsa was ready to meet new ones and Cookie was along with him for the ride.

"There's only one dame to avoid." Turk warned.

"Avoid? That sounds like a challenge to me." Tulsa joked, his crooked smirk splayed across his face. He was the perfect combination of sexy and cute and he knew it. Girls didn't typically say no to him.

"You say that, but this dame is just mean. She's prettier than sin, but no man can get close to her. I'm telling you, don't waste your time."

"Well, now I'm really intrigued. Where do I find her?" Turk rolled his eyes at Tulsa's cockiness.

"She sings at the Cafe Amerikanisch."

"Amerikanisch? Is she--"

"American? Yes." Tulsa's eyes lit up. Picking up frauleins in a GI uniform was easy. A girl from back home would present a challenge worthy of his effort.

"Well, we'll see if I can't melt this ice queen." He looked at Cookie and wiggled his eyebrows. Turk scoffed. There was a whistle and everyone moved to board the train. As they walked away, Turk called out to Tulsa.

"Good luck! Her name is y/n!"

******

The Cafe Amerikanisch is owned by an American expat and is intended to serve as a haven for homesick soldiers and other Americans living and working in Germany. As an American singer, and a pretty good looking one at that, you are a perfect act for this particular club.

Tonight is a pretty normal Saturday for you as you sit in your dressing room waiting for it to be time for you to go on stage. Your shiny red dress is form-fitting with a dangerously high slit, but your legs are your best feature, so it doesn't bother you much. There's a knock on your door and someone lets you know you've got two minutes. You slip on your black heels and long black gloves and stand up, adjusting your hair in the mirror. The last thing you do is blow yourself a red-lipstick kiss for good luck and then make your way to the stage.

The band begins and you do your normal set, singing and flirting with the audience. You've just started your last song, a jazzy version of Dream a Little Dream of Me by Ella Fitzgerald, when you notice a group of American GIs come in and stand in the corner watching you. It's too dark for you to really see them, but your stomach drops and you have to actively stop yourself from rolling your eyes. Great, now you'll have to deal with them tonight.

You've learned from experience that the soldiers usually come in with one thing on their mind. For some reason, you seem to represent some kind of prize for them to win. You gave in once early in your career and fell in love head over heels just for him to disappear several months later. Since then, you've avoided these men like the plague and turned down, quite aggressively, every advance from one of them. It sounds arrogant to assume they're there for you, but it just always seems to be true. You don't intend on calling their bluff tonight or ever, really.

Seeing them standing in the corner sends up your defenses and you start to come up with reasons to go directly home after you finish singing. Finally, your set is done and you bow, smiling to the crowd, waving and blowing kisses. You head off the stage to your dressing room to change and get out of here. You're a little annoyed because you were hoping to stay and have a few drinks with some of the other girls in the show, but now you'll have to run home. Once you're back in your navy blue and white dress, you grab your coat and purse and make an attempt to leave. Several of the other girls stop you before you can get to the door, though, and you chat with them for a bit.

"Please get a drink with us, y/n!"

"No, I really need to go. I'm so tired."

"Just one? You always run out of here so quick."

"Alright, one drink. And then I have to go."

You let them lead you to a table, keeping your eyes on the group of GIs, waiting for them to try to approach you. You accidentally make eye contact with one of them and a bolt of recognition hits you. Why does he seem so familiar? No matter. You can ignore him, and his sweet blue eyes and perfect hair, the same way you've ignored all the others.

They stay put where they are, watching you, until after you get your drink. You're starting to think that maybe they'll leave you alone when you notice them making their way towards you. You down your drink in three gulps and say a quick goodbye to the girls. You stand up and almost run smack into the one with the blue eyes.

Between the alcohol and standing up so fast, you're a little dizzy and almost running into him knocks you off balance. He catches you with both hands on your upper arms before you fall.

"Whoa, honey, where are you headed so fast?" There's something about his accent that causes you to freeze. Who is he?

"Wait. Y/n?!" Your eyes scan up to his face and you try to place him. He's so familiar and he obviously knows you too.

"It's Tulsa! Tulsa McLean!" He steps back from you and gestures to himself.

Your heart stops.

"Oh my god. Tulsa..." Your hand goes to your mouth and you look up into his eyes.

You haven't seen him since you moved from Oklahoma 8 years ago. Your brain flashes back to holding his hand, going to the movies and getting hamburgers, and most of all, that kiss behind the swing set. You wrote letters back and forth for a while, but you lost contact once you both really got into high school. Now he's here, in front of you again.

"What are you doing here?" You ask. He points to his uniform.

"Isn't it obvious? What are you doing here?"

"My father..."

"He's here? I don't remember him liking me very much." He chuckles and looks around the club like your father might be right around the corner. You notice that the other soldiers are elbowing each other and laughing, like Tulsa has a real chance here and they're impressed. That makes your blood boil and you turn back to Tulsa coldly.

"Well, it's good to see you, but I really need to head home." He blinks, surprised by the change in your tone.

"Now wait a minute, can we go somewhere to talk?"

"No, I'm sorry. It's late. Goodnight." You turn and walk away. There's a pang in your heart as you do. You've missed him, a lot, but he's a soldier now. There's no way you can trust him. You swallow the lump in your throat as you walk out the door towards your house.

******

"Tulsa! We thought you were in for sure!" He and his group of friends make their way to a table to order some drinks.

"How do you know her?" He looks down at his beer when it comes, thinking about the time you spent together all those years ago. He hasn't stopped thinking about you in all that time.

"We went to school together for a while when we were kids." He's gotten unusually quiet and the guys look at each other in surprise.

"Isn't that a good thing? It'll make it easier, right?"

"Guys, I'm not doing this anymore."

"Aw, Tulsa, come on. You're our entertainment! You gotta prove to Turk that you can do it!"

"No, I'm done. I'm going to head back to the barracks. I'll see y'all later." He stands up and makes his way to the door. On his way out, he stops at the table of girls you had been sitting with.

"Hey, ladies. Do any of y'all know where I could find y/n?" The girls look at each other, hesitant to share your location with a soldier. Still, you live with your parents, so they figure your father will keep you safe if anything really bad happens. The girl that you're closest with, Maryann, tells him your address.

"Thank you. Truly." He flashes them a winning smile and heads for the door.

Cookie sees him walk out and turns back to the guys.

"Hey, fellas. I don't think this is over." They laugh and cheer. Your friends notice this and make a note to tell you later.

******

You're sitting in your room, brushing your hair and looking in the mirror, trying not to think about Tulsa. You've already gotten ready for bed, so you have on pajamas and your robe. It's really late and the rest of the house is asleep. The only lights on are in your small apartment over the garage. You live with your parents, but the house is large and you've got your own area with a bathroom and sitting room. Your father let you move over here when you started working at the club. This was the closest he would let you get to living on your own. Just as you put the brush down and go to get in your bed, you hear something hit your window. What on earth was that?

You ignore the sound and continue getting in bed. When you hear it again, though, you start to get nervous. You walk cautiously to the window and peek through your curtains at the street down below.

What the hell??

Tulsa is down there, throwing tiny rocks from the garden at your window.

How did he find you?!

When he sees you in the window, he waves like the 10-year-old he was when you met him. You open the window and call down as quietly as possible.

"Tulsa! What are you doing here?!"

"I need to talk to you!" He hollers.

"Shhhh! You're going to wake up my father. I'm coming down there." You look in the mirror quickly on your way down. Your pajamas will have to do, since you don't want to take the time to get dressed. And your hair is down around your shoulders, unfixed. But it's just Tulsa. He saw you in junior high; this can't be worse than that.

You tiptoe down the stairs and open the front door as quietly as possible. You pull your robe tighter around yourself and step out into the chilly night air, dragging the door closed softly behind you.

"What? Talk fast. I'm freezing."

"Maybe we should go inside?"

"Nice try, soldier. I'll be okay. Just talk."

"Well, I hadn't really thought of what I was going to say. I just needed to see you again." He smiles sheepishly.

"Tulsa. Why?"

"I'm not entirely sure." You scoff and start to go back inside. He grabs your arm lightly to stop you and his touch sends shockwaves through your body.

"No! Wait! I just... I haven't ever stopped thinking about you..."

"That was a long time ago, Tuls..."

"Have dinner with me." You shake your head no. "Please, Birdie..." Your eyes snap up to his. He called you by the nickname he made up for you back then, when you used to sing while he played the guitar. You can hear his junior high voice, "You're just like a little songbird. My very own Birdie."

"Just dinner?" You can feel yourself melting a bit and it bothers you.

"Yes. I promise."

"Pick me up tomorrow at 8." He nods excitedly and you turn to go back inside. You really hope you don't regret this.

******

Tulsa watches you walk back up to the house. He's still a little in shock that you said yes. He also can't believe what a beautiful woman you've become. He knew you were cute, but this is something entirely different. As he turns to go back to the barracks, his mind wanders to the way you looked in your red dress. It hugged every curve perfectly and your leg was peeking out through the slit. He longed to see both of your legs without the skirt in the way. And then you came downstairs in your pajamas and were somehow even more beautiful with your hair falling down around your shoulders. He imagines taking your robe off and running his hands up and under your silky pajamas. When he realizes how aroused he is, he decides to get a cab so he can sit down and not be wandering the streets of Frankfurt with a blatantly obvious erection.

Back at the barracks, he's the first one home for the night. He figures the other guys are still out at the club. His mind wanders back to you in the red dress and what it might look like on the floor of this room. Before he knows it, he's turned on again and he decides to do something pretty risky. He pulls his army-issue blanket over his lap and frees his painfully hard dick from his pants. As he touches himself, he imagines what your small, soft hands might feel like on him. The possibility drives him insane as he begins to stroke himself faster and faster. Then, he thinks of your beautiful red lips wrapped around him and he moans softly. He knows he probably doesn't have much time before the other guys come home, so he continues to move his hand up and down, moving his foreskin back and forth, the friction making his hips buck into his hand. His mind stays focused on you and your curves as he imagines holding your hips and pounding into you, first from behind and then with you on top so he can watch your breasts as they bounce with his motions. The image is almost overwhelming and he feels his release building. Finally, when he pictures the face you make when he gives you an orgasm, he comes hard, moaning your name with a string of cuss words.

His blanket is ruined, so he uses it to clean himself up quickly and then tosses it in his laundry. He's breathing heavily, a little embarrassed at having just gotten himself off to the thought of you, when he hears the guys coming down the hallway. He tries to slow his heart rate and gets ready for bed, laying down just as the door opens.

"Hey Tulsa! You missed a helluva night! You shoulda seen this girl Cookie was talking to!" He rolls over pretends like they woke him up.

"How'd it go with your girl?" They all look at him expectantly.

"Oh, well, uh, we're having dinner tomorrow night." They whoop and holler, the amount of beer they had becoming obvious.

"We knew you'd get her! Nothing like a connection from the past to get a girl to go weak in the knees for ya!" Tulsa frowns.

"It's not like that, fellas." He tries not to think about what he just pictured you doing. "We're old friends. That's all. Now let me go back to sleep." He rolls back over as they continue talking and laughing. He tries to go to sleep, but he can't stop imagining you curled up next to him in your silk pajamas.

******

You're standing in front of your house in your favorite pink dress when Tulsa pulls up in a cab. You forgot that he wouldn't have a car, since he's a soldier. He hops out and opens the door for you, but you shake your head.

"We'll take my car." He pays the cab driver and follows you to your BMW convertible. His mouth pops open when he realizes it's yours.

"Nightclub business must be good." He jokes. You remember how much he loves cars and toss him the keys.

"I don't really feel like driving tonight." His eyes light up and you can't stop yourself from smiling. He really is an attractive man. This might be harder than you thought.

You guide him to a restaurant, where he parks and runs to your side of the car to open the door for you. He still has his southern manners. Once you get to the table, you both relax a bit and it feels more like the two of you used to be, talking and laughing easily.

"And how's your mama? She was always so sweet to me." You ask, taking a bite of your food.

"That's because she loved you! Always said you were too good for me. She was probably right." He looks at you shyly. "But, she's good! She and Daddy still live in the same house. I haven't seen them in almost 2 years." He gets a little somber and you can tell he must be homesick.

"Are you almost finished with your tour?"

"I've got three months here in Frankfurt and then I'm free. I can't wait to get back to the states." You look down at your plate. He's going to disappear in three months. Don't get attached.

"What about you? Will you be headed stateside any time soon?"

"No, my father is about to retire, but he wants to stay here. And even if he left, I'd probably try to stay. I like it here and I don't really have a home in the US. Not like you do."

"You could always come back to Oklahoma." He cuts himself off before he says "with me." You look up at him, noticing that it seems like he wants to say something else, but he doesn't. Instead, he changes the subject to talk about your singing career. He tells you he has formed a group with some of the guys and has been performing whenever they get a chance. He also tells you about how they want to open a nightclub when they get home.

"See, you could come sing in our club! Be our main act!" You know he's joking, but there's an edge of seriousness to him that makes you wonder.

You continue to talk and laugh through the rest of dinner and it feels good to be with him, like he brings out a part of you that you forgot exists. A happy, hopeful, youthful part of you that's been buried since you had your heart broken.

You sit together at dinner for a long time after you finish eating and even when you can't sit there any longer, you're still not ready to be away from him. He suggests a drink somewhere and you agree with a swiftness that you fear gives you away.

You like him. A lot.

He's still the sweet, funny boy you loved so long ago, just in the body of this charming and devilishly handsome man.

You decide to take him back to the Amerikanisch for drinks. It's familiar and you know everyone that works there. You sit at your table together and continue your conversation from before. At one point, he says something really funny and you put your hand on his on the table. He stops laughing and looks at you longingly. You let him take your hand and hold it, running his thumb over your knuckles softly. Your heart beats faster and you start to wish that you were somewhere other than a crowded club so he could kiss you if he wanted to. And something tells you that he wants to. The spell is broken, though, when his friends come in and see you together. He gets up to take them to a different table.

"I'll be right back, Birdie." He uses your nickname again and you wish it didn't make you melt all over again.

As soon as he's gone, Maryann joins you at your table.

"You need to watch out for that one."

"For Tulsa? No, I've known him for a long time. He's not that kind of guy."

"Yeah, well, his buddies sure think he is." She tells you about what she and the other girls noticed last night.

"Just be careful, okay? I'd hate to see you become some kind of trophy for him." You nod and look over at him at the table with the other soldiers. You can't let yourself forget he's one of them.

******

"What are you guys doing here?"

"We had a feeling you'd be here with y/n and we wanted to come check on your progress. And even if you weren't, Cookie wanted to come see his waitress."

"Check my progress? I told y'all that's not what this is. You're about to ruin the whole thing." Tulsa raises his voice slightly to let them know he's serious. Cookie's waitress comes by and he disappears to follow her to the bar. The rest of the guys agree to back off, so Tulsa makes his way back over to you. There's another girl sitting with you, though, and he recognizes her as the one who gave him your address.

"Thanks again for helping me find her...?"

"Maryann. Nice to meet you. I've been hearing a lot about you in the last ten minutes." She stands up and lets him sit back down. As she walks away, she gestures to you that she's watching.

"What was that all about?"

"Oh, nothing really. She just worries about me since..." You trail off, not really wanting to talk about why.

"Since what?"

"Since Mike." Tulsa looks uncomfortable and brings his eyebrows together in a frown.

"Who is Mike?" You don't want to, but you feel safe with Tulsa, so you tell him the whole story. How you let him take you out, let him convince you to fall in love with him, let him make you believe he wanted to marry you, let him have you. When you get to the last part, Tulsa looks away from you, obviously affected. The thought of you with another man makes him sick to his stomach. The thought of that man hurting you fills him with rage. He suddenly wishes Mike was around, so he could punch him in the face and then take you in his arms and protect you.

"That's why you don't trust soldiers." You nod, not wanting to let the tears that have gathered in your eyes find a way to fall. He's dying to put his arm around you and comfort you. He wants to wipe the tears from your eyes and make sure you never cry again. But you're still in the middle of a crowded club.

"Do you wanna get out of here?" He asks, trying to sound as genuine as possible. You look over to his table of friends hesitantly. He looks down at his hands, frustrated by the fact that they've made you nervous. He'd give anything not to be wearing this stupid uniform right now.

"Yes." He looks up at you, pleasantly surprised. You decide to trust him, despite everything. He stands up and puts his hand out for you to take, so you grab your coat and wrap your fingers through his. At your touch, his heart skips a beat. This might be more than just rekindling a friendship.

******

When you get outside the club, the cold wind hits you and you shiver. Tulsa puts his arm around you, and you let him, warmth spreading through you.

The only place you can think of to go is back to your house. You recognize that this might send the wrong message, but you're not exactly sure that is the wrong message at this point.

Once you're in the car, Tulsa asks where you want to go.

"Home."

"Oh. Okay." He thinks you mean without him. You scoot close to him in the front seat and put your head on his shoulder.

"I want you to come with me." He tries to hide his excitement and fails, but instead of being annoyed, you think it's really cute. He puts the car in drive and you make your way back to your house.

Thankfully, the house is dark when you get there. You weren't looking forward to explaining to your father why Tulsa was coming upstairs with you. Instead, you both take off your shoes and walk as quietly as possible until you reach the safety of your apartment.

As soon as you close your bedroom door, you both burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation. You're grown adults sneaking around like teenagers. He sets his hat down on your dresser while you take your coat off. You stand there for a while, staring at each other in silence. Then, slowly, carefully, he reaches out and puts his hand on your cheek, brushing it softly with his thumb. You close your eyes and lean into his palm. Your heart is beating so fast and your eyes flutter open to meet his blue ones. They're soft and calm, like the ocean on a still day. As he leans in, your fingers begin to tingle. When his soft lips finally meet yours, a tidal wave of desire washes over you and you're filled with a need for him to touch every inch of you. The same wave seems to hit him as well because he moves his hands from your face to your waist, pulling your hips in close to him as you throw your arms around his neck. Your lips part and he slides his tongue into your mouth to dance with yours. You feel your body heat up as he presses against you, kissing you passionately.

After a few minutes of being locked together like this, he pulls back from your lips and looks into your eyes again.

"Is this really what you want, Birdie? I don't want you to feel like I'm forcing you into anything." You think for a second. If this continues, you know you won't be able to stop yourself from falling for him. But do you want to stop? Tulsa isn't like the others. He knows you. And even if he is leaving in a few months, you've found each other once before. Who's to say you won't do it again? You're ready to stop being scared. And three months with him sounds better than a lifetime with Mike.

"Yes, this is what I want. You are what I want, Tulsa." He dives back into the kiss and never looks back. You walk backwards towards your bed, pulling his tie off and starting to unbutton his shirt. He finishes your work and drops it on the floor, his lips never moving from yours. His hands move to the back of your dress, finding the zipper and carefully pulling it down to the small of your back. As he runs his hands back up to your shoulders, his fingers graze the skin that was under your dress and the electricity is palpable. You wiggle your shoulders as he slides the top half of your dress off. He kisses down your neck to your shoulder and each place he presses his lips burns with a newfound heat. You push your dress down over your hips and let it fall to the floor with his shirt. He slides the tips of his fingers under your slip and pushes it down too. Then, he pulls back and looks at you standing there in your garter belt, hose, bra, and panties.

"Wow." You blush a little with his burning gaze moving up and down your body and move to cover yourself with your hands.

"You don't have to hide from me, baby." He gently moves your hands away from you and you start to feel more comfortable. His presence is comforting, even as you stand there nearly naked. You take a moment to look down his body, running your hands from his shoulders down to the waistline of his pants. That's when you notice that his dick is hard, pressing against the fabric of his pants dramatically. You look up into his eyes and he looks away and clears his throat like he's embarrassed. You put one hand on his cheek and softly move his face back to making eye contact with you. Then you take your other hand and touch him over his pants, rubbing up and down his dick carefully.

"Mmm." His eyes close and his hips buck forward into your hand. He is desperate for your touch, just as you are for his. He moves his hands up and down your sides and then finds the back of your garter belt with his fingers. He undoes the hooks and then sits you down on the edge of the bed. Kneeling down in front of you, he slowly unclips your hose and drops the belt to the floor. Then, he gently rolls your hose down each of your legs, lifting each ankle to his lips and pressing a kiss there. He kisses each of your knees and then pushes them apart to kiss the inside of each thigh. As he gets closer and closer to your center, you feel your arousal begin to gather in your panties. He stops before he gets there, though, and stands up. You lean forward and unbutton his pants.

"Wait, honey." He puts his hands on yours and stands there looking down at you, breathing heavily. He wants to savor this moment with you. He's been with women before, but something about this feels like another kind of first time. It's a little overwhelming and he wants to make sure it doesn't move too quickly. He looks at you sitting there in just your bra and panties. You might be the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. Even his imagination didn't do you justice. Is this what it feels like to be in love?

"Should I... should I put on pajamas or something?" You look around the room, assuming something about you must have turned him off, despite his continuing erection. He sits next to you on the bed.

"Oh, no, honey--"

"You don't like me?" You look at him with tears in your eyes. You didn't realize it mattered to you so much, but now you know. You so desperately want him to want you, to like you, to love you the way you've realized you've always loved him.

"Don't like you?! Baby, I-I... well... to hell with it... I love you." Your eyes snap up to meet his.

"Y-you do?"

"Aw, hell. Yes, y/n I do. I always have." He searches your face for some kind of reassurance that he's not alone in this.

"I love you too..." you whisper it, but it's enough for him. He puts his hands on your face and pulls you into a deep kiss. He lays you back on the bed, running his hand down your body. He kisses down your neck, whispering "I love you" in between each kiss. His hand makes its way to your center and he moves your panties to the side, sliding his finger up your slit to the place that makes your back arch and a moan escape your lips. He smiles at how easily you come undone in his hands. After a few second of this, he slips one finger into you and then two. The feeling of some part of him inside you is enough to drive you to the edge. He sits up on his knees and slides your panties down and off. Then he climbs in between your legs and pushes his fingers back into you, moving them in and out rhythmically. You're overcome by the sensation of his hands on you and the intense emotions that are running through you. He loves you. But more importantly, you love him. Everything physical that's happening is just an expression of that and you never want it to end. Just as you think you're going to lose control, he lowers his mouth onto you and adds his tongue to the movements he's already making. You gasp and it doesn't take long for your orgasm to build up and crash over you like waves on a beach, over and over again out to the edges of your body and back again.

"Oh, yes, Tulsa!" You cry out as you shudder and pulse around his fingers. He sits up on his knees and finally lets you undo his pants, kicking them and his underwear off quickly. He unhooks your bra and literally throws it to the side. Now, it's like he can't move fast enough. He needs to be inside you as soon as possible. You help him with this task, lining him up with your entrance before he pushes into you hard and deep.

"Oh shit." He moans. "You feel so good, Birdie." When he uses your nickname again you whimper and kiss his neck. He begins to pump in and out of you and both of you begin to sweat. You feel him inside you, hitting all of your most sensitive places. The rhythm he keeps is not too fast or too slow, his hips pressing into yours and driving him deeper inside you. You can't believe how good he feels like this. But you want to repay him for the pleasure he gave you at the start, so you push him off of you and lay him on his back next to you. He follows directions easily, waiting patiently for you to straddle him and lower yourself onto him. Groaning with the change in sensation of having you on top of him, he reaches up and cups both of your breasts while you bounce. The picture that you make, sitting there on top of him, drives him absolutely crazy.

"God, you're beautiful." He moves his hands to your hips and starts to thrust into you deeply. You roll your hips to meet his over and over, your hands on his chest. His eyes roll back and close as his mouth is opened partially. The look of pleasure that he has makes you want to keep doing this forever. His arousal fuels your own as you continue to grind against him.

"Yes, don't stop!" You moan again as another orgasm builds inside you, starting in your abdomen and spreading through your legs.

"I'm gonna come, baby." He opens his eyes and tries to watch the expression on your face, but he's overwhelmed by his own ecstatic pleasure as you reach your climax together. You feel his warmth inside you and know it's risky, but you don't care. In that moment, the only thing that matters is you and him together, bodies intertwined and breathing heavily, your skin pressed against his. You lay on his chest and he wraps his arms around you and kisses your hair.

"Birdie, that was..."

"...everything." You look up at him from your position on his chest. You've never felt anything like this before, emotionally or physically. You gently run your fingertip down the line of his nose and he grabs your fingers and kisses them. The intimacy between you goes beyond the simplicity of sex. You belong to each other.

Eventually, you get up to go to the bathroom, thinking about everything that just happened. It seems like fate that you would run into each other again. And after what just happened, you don't ever want to let him go.

When you get back to the bedroom, he gestures for you to come lay beside him. He's under the covers now; it looks like he doesn't want to go anywhere either. It's fine by you that he stays. You wish he could stay forever. That's when you remember that he's leaving in 3 months.

"Tulsa, what are we gonna do?"

"About what, honey?"

"You're only here for a little while." You crawl into the bed and snuggle up against him. He's not worried about anything, though. In his mind, he's going to buy a ring tomorrow.

"Come back to Oklahoma with me." He says it matter-of-factly. You think about what that would mean, leaving your job and your friends and your family behind. But you've moved so many times before. And this time, you wouldn't be moving away from somewhere, you'd be moving towards a home with him.

"Okay. I'll go home with you. I'm not sure how my father will feel about me moving without--"

"--a ring on your finger? Let me worry about that part." He makes his crooked smirk-smile and you kiss his cheek.

"I trust you..."

******

The End

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I wasn't sure if anyone would want to be tagged, since this is technically not an Elvis fic...

[delayed-affection]

could you write something about John Marino?

Under the Stars

Navigation Oneshots

John Marino x reader

A/n: I did the math, him joining the devils up til now works with the story.

Warnings: Nothing

Word count: 1.0k

With the stress of playoffs John wanted nothing more than to have a night off with you. But that couldn’t happen because he was either on a plane, on the ice, or with the team.

And you were always at work or had plans prior to him knowing that he’d have free time.

However he was certain that tonight would be the night that he got to be alone with you, no distractions.

So while you were getting ready to drop him off, on his request, he moved the blankets and snacks from his trunk into yours.

He walks back into your place to see you putting on your shoes.

You look up at him from your spot on the couch, “Well don’t you look cute.”

He smooths down his suit walking over to you, “Speak for yourself.”

You finish putting on your shoes and stand up, “Are you still staying the night?”

“Yeah.” He says offer you his hand, “I just have to leave in the morning to meet with the team so that we can head out to Carolina.”

You nod taking his hand, “Okay.”

~

It was a tough loss on the boys, going from a big win to this sucked the life out of them. One more game like that and they’re done.

Once the post game interviews and the not so liked talked with the coaches were done, the boys were let out.

With your relationship still being on the newer side, you wait for him outside.

As you stand outside by your car, you can feel night air getting colder. You nervously check your phone, wondering if he’s been let out yet.

Finally, you see him approaching and your heart skips a beat at the sight of him. He pulls you into hug, feeling him relax in your arms.

He pulls away and asks, “Is it okay if I drive?”

“Of course.” You say handing him the keys.

Getting in the car your unsure if you should talk about the game. You watch him as he drives, looking for a sign if he wants to talk about it.

He feels your gaze and spares you a glance.

“Like whatcha see?” He asks with a chuckle.

You playfully roll your eyes at him, “That obvious.”

He shakes his head and places his hand on your thigh.

You place yours on top of his and look out the window.

“Wanna talk about the game or no?” You question, giving his hand a small squeeze.

He sighs flipping his hand over to intertwine your fingers and says, “Not really.”

At a stoplight he brings your hand up to him and kisses your knuckles.

“We’ll get them in game five.” He states , his voice soft, and he looks at you with a smile.

You nod and smile in agreement.

When the light turns green you notice that takes the wrong turn.

“You know my house is back that way, right?” You question

“Yes, but I wanna take you somewhere first.” He informs

"Where?"

He turns to you and smiles. "It's a surprise," he says. "Just sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride."

~

You sit in the car trying to see what on earth he could be doing. Only being able see his shadow run back and forth between the car and the park.

He shuts the trunk and walks around the car, opening the door for you. Leading you into the park and over to a blanket he set out.

He sits down and motions you to join him.

You join him, “Can I ask why you did this?”

"I thought you might like it, you know? A night under the stars." he says with a smile, "I even packed some of your favorite foods."

He rubs the back of his neck, “Well the ones that didn’t have to be refrigerated or cooked.”

You give him a quick peck on the lips, “Thank you.”

Pulling you closer, he drapes a blanket over the two of you.

The softness of the fabric against your skin and the feeling of his arms around you make you feel safe and protected against the cold night air.

You look at him and see a gentle smile on his face. He seems happy to be here with you, sharing this moment of intimacy and closeness.

“I missed you.” You confess leaning into his side.

He pulls you closer, wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

"I missed you too," he says softly, his voice filled with warmth and affection.

As you both gaze up at the twinkling stars, a comfortable silence settles between you. The only sounds are the gentle rustling of the leaves in the cool night breeze and the occasional chirping of crickets.

After a while, he speaks up again. "You know, it's nights like these that make me realize how lucky I am to have you in my life."

You feel your heart swell with emotion at his words and you turn to look at him, a soft smile on your lips.

He leans in to press a soft kiss to your forehead and you close your eyes, savoring the moment.

“I love you.” He voices taking you off guard.

You’re heart races, “Huh?”

He turns sheepish but he repeats himself, “I love you.”

You can help but blush, this is a big deal. You have only been dating for eight months and you honestly thought he’d want to wait a little longer say it.

But you can hear it in his voice how sincere and serious he was.

He takes your silence as an answer, “Y-You don’t have to say it back, I- I know we haven’t been together for that long-“

You make him stop talking by placing your hands on his face.

“I love you too.” You tell him

He lets out a nervous laugh, “What?”

Now it was your turn to repeat yourself, “I love you, John.”

He pulls you onto his lap and kisses you slowly, like he never wants it to end. He's gentle with you but firm with his mouth on you. You feel his hands on your hips as he brings you down onto the blanket with him.

He breaks away and his faces lights up with a smile.

“I love you.” He says

You lay your head on his chest, listening as his heart beats faster, “I love you too.”

[jerzwriter]

A Celebration

Book:                   Crimes of Passion (Just after Book 1)

Pairing:                Trystan Thorne x F!MC (Carolina Rose)

Rating:                 Teen+  

Category:      Fluff

Summary:   They've solved a murder mystery, and they're the talk of the town. That's reason to celebrate, right? Trystan thinks so, but when Carolina doesn't seem to be on board, Luke & Ruby have some suggestions for their royal friend. But what will Carolina think?

Words: 2,190

A/N: Are you all as excited about CoP being back as I am? This fic is in response to @choicesbookclub's ask, what did Trystan x MC do during the "weeks" between CoP 1 and Cop2. I could just see Trystan wanting to celebrate and Carolina (Caro-LEE-na) being all, "yeah, work to do!" That inspired this. I hope you enjoy it! Participating in @choicesflashfics Week 39 (prompt in bold) and @choicesjunechallenge - sunshine, rain, cocktails, and romance. A few Spanish words - sobrina = niece, tio = uncle, cariña = term of endarment - "honey" "dear" - nothing exact.

CoP is new to me - I'm tagging my perma list. But if you'd like to be removed or added for future CoP, just let me know!

CoP Masterlist My Complete Masterlist

The early morning sun peeked through the curtains, creating waves of golden light and shadows in the tiny office space. The room was silent, Luke fixating on his laptop and Carolina immersed in paperwork, but Trystan refused to let this day pass as if it were just any other. He had purchased every newspaper on the stand and smiled broadly as he poured over each one. Sure, the good press was welcomed, even if he knew it would be met with skepticism on the other side of the Atlantic. But, the elation he was experiencing had nothing to do with the accolades being laid at his feet and everything to do with those being awarded to her.

If Carolina was impacted by the coverage and their newfound fame, she wasn’t letting it show. Her interest was far more piqued by the celebratory pastries Trystan brought in from Leske’s. The sugary treats were her favorite, and knowing he made a special trip to Bay Ridge to pick them up before work… that made her heart sing more than she was willing to let show. Now, bathed in the warm sunlight, she let out a tantalizing groan as her teeth sunk into a glazed cruller. When she opened her eyes, she wasn’t surprised to find Trystan transfixed on her.

“What?” she asked, wiping icing from her lip.

“Nothing,” he smirked. “I’m just wondering… what does one do in the States after they experience a huge win like this?”

“I dunno,” she mumbled, shoving the last of her cruller in her mouth. “What does one do in Drakovia?”

“There are various approaches. A national holiday… a military parade, if warranted. A festive ball… that goes without saying! Then there are the various forms of debauchery that would require us to pay off the press to prevent them from making it public. But we’re not in Drakovia, so what should we be going here?”  

“I’m not sure,” she shrugged. “I guess we could go to Disneyland.”

“Disneyland?” he chuckled. “The amusement park?”  

“It’s just a stupid commercial,” Luke injected. “Capitalism at its best. Anytime a sports team wins a championship, one of its star players is asked, “What are you going to do next?” and they answer, “I’m going to Disneyland.”

“All right, then,” Trystan grinned. “If it’s Disneyland is what’s expected, I can have a plane chartered for us by this evening.”

Ruby walked in the front door, her face alight at the thought of the gang traipsing through the park in mouse ears, when Carolina unwittingly quashed her hopes.

“Mmm, I’m not really interested in Disneyland. Plus, we’re not all the idle rich, dear prince. I already have new cases that need my attention.”

“Bummer,” Ruby grimaced.

“I tried,” Trystian shrugged, holding the box of doughnuts in her direction. “But here, a consolation cruller, if you will.”

“Well, that’s something,” Ruby smiled. “But I agree with Trystan. We should celebrate! What do you guys think we should do?”

“I don’t know,” Carolina sighed. “We’ll think of something, but if you’ll excuse me, I have paperwork to review with Mafalda.”

Luke was bemused, watching Trystan’s puppy-dog eyes trail Carolina as she exited the room.   His lips curled into a barely-there smile. If brownie points were desired, he could offer his regal friend an assist.  

“I know something Carolina would love,” Luke announced, letting the suggestion hang in the air to gauge how quickly Trystan would inquire. It took but a second.

“Name it!”

“The Yankees,” Luke stated as he slammed his laptop closed. “Carolina bleeds pinstripes, and you’re in luck. Boston is coming to town next week.”

“Oooh! Boston!” Ruby delighted. “That’s the biggest rivalry there is! She’d love it! I’d love it!”

“Say no more!” Trystan announced phone already in hand. “I’ll arrange for a suite….”

“A suite?” Luke laughed. “Carolina would kill you! Look, I’m not about to suggest dragging royalty into the bleachers, but Carolina will not want to see her beloved Bronx Bombers in an air-conditioned suite!”

“Oh, heaven forbid!” Trystan said with a roll of his eyes.

“It’s just part of the experience,” Ruby attempted to explain. “The overpriced hot dogs, the stale beer… the drunken fans cursing and making complete asses out of themselves….”

“It sounds… delightful,” Trystan offered. “But I could have all that arranged in the suite if required.”

“It wouldn’t be the same aesthetic,” Luke sighed. “Uptown Boy… if you want to make the Bronx girl happy… trust me on this.”

“I do trust you. And if you say it will make Carolina happy… I’ll make it happen.”

“Not so fast,” Ruby chimed in. “It’s a great idea, but Red Sox and Yankee games sell out way in advance, and resale tickets are usually pretty pricey.”

Trystan looked at Ruby with a raised brown.

“You forget,” Luke grumbled. “We’re hanging with the bourgeoisie now….”

“Yes!” Trystan beamed. “And I hope you’ve learned that some of us aren’t all bad. I mean, look at me? I’m kind, generous, charming, sexy as hell, and I have quite the flair for fashion if I must say so myself. I’m also….”

“Humble,” Luke finished. “Please, don’t forget, humble.”

“Hmm,” Trystan rubbed the stubble on his chin. “I’ll work on getting our tickets. But humble… I don’t know if I can manage to swing that.”

~~~~~

One week later, at the Drunk Tank Bar

“… and then I told the guy… listen… you can’t drive! So call a buddy to come get you, or we’re getting you a cab.”

“And what did he do?” Trystan asked.

“He called a friend. The next thing I know, a guy is sitting outside on a horse! The customer stumbles out, somehow mounts the thing, and they take off….”

“On the streets of New York City?” Luke asked.

Tommy crossed his heart. “I swear on my life!”

“Are you sure you weren’t the one who had a little too much that night?” Trystan winked. 

“Oh, I’m sure. Tend bar long enough in this city, and you’ll see everything!”

Trystan laughed heartily. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever see everything New York had to offer, but as Carolina made her way down the stairs, he knew one thing… he loved what it offered right now. His eyes went dark as they drank her in, trailing from head to toes, then back again. Up her curvaceous legs that never seemed to end, over her tanned thighs leading to the cut-off denim shorts that hugged her like a second skin, along her Yankee jersey… number 23… honoring her late father’s favorite player. It hung wide, allowing him a peek at the fitted white crop top underneath. His mouth went dry. Then her hair… the long, luscious waves cascading down her neck, over her shoulder, twining down until they reached her…

“Hello?” she waved her hands in front of his face. “Trystan? Hello?”

“Oh, uh… hello,” he faltered; this wasn’t a look the usually unflappable man was accustomed to wearing.

“What’s the matter?” she teased. “Distracted? Cat got your tongue?”

“Something like that,” he settled, trying desperately to regain his footing. “So, is that what you’re wearing?”

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” she asked defensively.

“Oh, nothing! Nothing at all,” he stumbled again, but this time he grinned with delight seeing the amusement on her face. She loved the control she had over him, and frankly, he loved allowing her to have it. “I’m just unfamiliar with what one wears to a baseball game.”

“Yeah,” she snickered, giving his designer suit the once over. “Trust me… it shows.”

“I take it Brunello Cucinelli silk suits aren’t the standard attire?”

“Not unless you want to get beaten up!” She giggled. She slapped Luke on the back as a loud thunderclap shook the bar. “You suggested a Yankee game but didn’t give him a heads up on what he should wear?”  

“What,” Luke replied sarcastically. “And miss this fun?”

“Sobrina,” Uncle Tommy shouted over the bar. “There to save him. The game was just rain delayed.”

“Aw, man!” Ruby frowned.

“It’s OK,” Carolina grinned. “Tio, keep serving them drinks while I take this one to rummage through your closet. I should be able to find something to help him there.”

She turned to Trystan with a wink and a coy smile. “Come with me,” she cooed as he did his best to maintain a poker face.

They hadn’t reached the top of the staircase before Trystan was already back to his usual ways. “You just couldn’t wait to get me alone, could you?”

Carolina shook her head as she led him into Tommy’s room, rummaging through her uncle’s assortment of baseball shirts.

“I want to make sure you look presentable,” she started. “I can’t be seen with…” a small whimper escaped her as Trystan’s hands landed on her waist, slowly working their way over the curve of her hips. 

“You were saying,” he smirked. Before she had a second to think, he pushed her long hair to the side, his lips quickly claiming the delicate skin on her he had just bared on her neck.  

“I uh…” she gasped, unable to concentrate on anything other than his proximity, his warmth, and how perfect it all felt. “This is good… this is nice… to…”

“Good? Nice?” he smiled, turning her to face him. “Is that the best you can offer?”

“Well, this is a lovely appetizer?” she mocked. “But I’ve had the main course, and well… now everything else pales in comparison.”

Trystan bit into his lower lip, twitching with delight. “Well, we can do something about that.”

Her breath hitched when he lifted her against the wall, his chest flush against hers as his fingers tangled in her lengthy, golden-brown hair. He grinned when the slightest groan escaped her, and his lips captured hers in a soft, sensual kiss that ignited the smoldering passion they had attempted to tamper all day.

“Lovely little sound, cariña,” he breathed into her ear. “Did you make that just for me?”

“I… I… uh…”

Before she could reply, his lips were on hers again, tender but growing rougher as she deepened the kiss. Her hands slid up his chest, running over his skin as she slowly unbuttoned his shirt. They could feel the combustion overtaking them when startled by a loud knock. Carolina’s eyes went wide. 

“Come in!” She hollered, forcefully pushing Trystan away.

A stunned Ruby stood at the door, curiously looking between the two. 

“Oh, uh… I just wanted to tell you… uhm… we’re going to order pizza since it looks like a long delay… do uhm... you want some?”

“Yes! We definitely want some,” Trystan answered far too quickly, eliciting giggles from their friend.

“Pizza, that is!” Carolina quickly corrected. “Please, yes. Order extra for us.”

“Will do,” Ruby replied with a gleam in her eye. “Apparently, you two are working up an appetite.”

“I’m just helping him get dressed!” Carolina insisted as she hurled a Derek Jeter jersey at Trystan’s chest. “That’s all!”

“Mmm hmm. I’ll just pretend that my job doesn’t require paying attention to detail, and I’ll fill you two in on this detail… Julio is taking over for Tommy in five minutes, and he mentioned taking a quick nap on his break; you may want to vacate his room.”

“Oh! Yes! Of course!” Carolina insisted. “Trystan just has to change his shirt and….”

“I’ll wait downstairs,” Ruby winked as she slowly shut the door behind her. She wasn’t more than a few feet away when Trystan broke into laughter.

“YOU!” Carolina yelled, trying her best to appear annoyed, though it was clear she was anything but. “You made me forget we were in my uncle’s bedroom!”

“Yes,” Trystan grinned., more than pleased with himself. He moved toward her, cupping her cheek gently in his hand. “Forgive me, but I enjoy knowing I make you forget the world around you as much as you do the same to me.”

“Yeah, well, why don’t we get you changed before my uncle finds us here. Raincheck?”

“Do you mean me or the game?”

“Both, apparently.”  

Desperate for anything to take her attention off of him, Carolina quickly grabbed a baseball cap and mirrored glasses on her uncle’s dresser. “And here!” she said, tossing the items his way. “You should wear these, too!”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Hey, it’s that, or I find Uncle Tommy’s beer-guzzler helmet. Which will it be?”

“These will do just fine,” Trystan surrendered as he changed. “I hope the rain delay isn’t long. I simply cannot wait to see you in your element.”

“Really?” Carolina snickered as they stepped out of the bedroom. “I should warn you… it is a lot. You’re about to see a side of me you haven’t seen before.”

“Good!” He enthused. “Because you’re the most ridiculous person I know, and, God, do I love it.”

“I’ll remind you that you said that after the game,” she said, catching him from the corner of her eye. “It may be a bit too much.”

“Never,” he said, clasping her hand. “Haven’t you figured it out yet? I want all the Carolina that I can get.”

@choicesficwriterscreations

Tagging others in reblog.

[the-gone-ton]

Pictured: former Maryland Fried Chicken restaurant in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania (now a cigarette store) in 2023; and a then-operational Maryland Fried Chicken in Winston-Salem, North Carolina in 1969.

Maryland Fried Chicken was an early competitor to KFC that ironically was founded in Florida by Al Constantine, a native of Delaware. Constantine, after noting the success of KFC franchises, experimented with his own fried chicken recipe and handed out samples at the diner he owned in Orlando until he had, as he once said, "the best fried chicken in the world."

Al opened the first "Maryland Fried Chicken" restaurant in Fern Park, Florida, in October of 1961. With help from his parents and two of his brothers, Al oversaw the chain's expansion across Florida as dozens of new MFCs opened under franchise agreements. A deal in 1967 with Georgia businessman J.R. Miller helped take MFC to about 20 US states in the south, midwest, and northeast. The company claimed to be the 3rd-largest and fastest-growing fried chicken take-out chain in the US in 1969. Its first (and likely only) international locations opened in Nassau, Bahamas, in 1970. By the start of 1971, 160 locations were operational.

But both personal and economic struggles began to pressure the company in the 70s. Al's relationship with his brothers began to strain, and his marriage ended in divorce in 1971. Before that year was out, Al resigned as President of Maryland Fried Chicken, Inc., dissatisfied with the direction of the company he had started. The company reported a financial loss for the year 1971 and began a bloodbath of store closures, especially in the south. The company quickly went extinct in Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, and Tennessee even as it was making a new push into New York, New England, and the midwest. Reduced to just 102 stores by the end of 1972, the new President of the company then announced that it had returned to profitability.

But the economy only got worse from there, as the 1973 recession set in. Of particular concern was the skyrocketing price of chicken and rising interest rates. It didn't help that the company in 1974 became largely owned by shady investor James Mairs, a disgraced former lawyer who was bisbarred due to a credible accusation that he funneled $500,000 from a client's trust fund into his own pockets. The company was now on a downward spiral with no turning back, and by the late 70s it was bankrupt and out of business.

But that was never the end of the story. Although Maryland Fried Chicken, Inc. no longer existed, the individual franchises remained. Many of them threw in the towel, retired, or started new restaurants. But some decided to try and keep things going like nothing had ever happened. By the time I entered the picture, I was living in a bubble where it was as Al's dream had been realized: the local MFC had outlasted Popeyes and competed favorably with KFC across the street. But of course, this was not how most towns looked in the 2000s. My local MFC franchise of 2 restaurants in Bethlehem and Easton, Pennsylvania, was the last one in the northeast. I hardly imagine any of the patrons knew that MFC ever existed outside the Lehigh Valley.

My local location was opened by Tom Workman in 1968, and he owned it until 2008, when he sold it to longtime employee Paul Matula, who Workman considered to be like a son. Workman passed away in 2011, and shortly thereafter a kitchen fire forced the Bethlehem unit's closure. The smaller branch in Easton, lacking a drive-thru, stuck around until 2014. Though my locations have closed, I'd like to go to a remaining store again someday. They still exist in Florida, Georgia, South Carolina, and one lone unit in Michigan. For a more comprehensive history with lots of pictures, check out my blogger post.

[somethingusefulfromflorida]

My entire Spanish novel collection

I'm not a huge fan of George Orwell, but I read both Animal Farm and 1984 in high school so I know they're short and easy to read. They'll be good practice.

The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy is by far my favorite series of all time. None of the four (yes, four. Not five, not six, but four) are favorites by themselves, but taken as a whole I have yet to find anything more entertaining.

Jurassic Park is fun but VERY dry (as is Crichton's style). He has a lot of "look at all the research I did" exposition dumps, which I liked as a teenager but don't much care for now. If nothing else, I'll learn plenty of scientific vocabulary from Parque Jurasico.

The Martian is one of my favorite books of all time, tied for first with two titles below. I've read it a dozen times, I know it forwards and backwards. El Marciano was the first Spanish book I ever bought back in 2021, and I couldn't parse more than one word in ten. My reading comprehension has improved tremendously since then, and now I can read almost the entire thing (if I don't understand a certain passage, I know from memory of the English version which part I'm at in the story and can limp along without getting frustrated or confused)

The Road is one of the few books that has made me cry. Let me leave it at that.

The Time Traveler's Wife is another favorite tied with The Martian. I read all the other books on this list in high school or college, but I didn't pick this one up until relatively recently. I am currently in the process of reading La Mujer del Viajero en el Tiempo for the first time, and like The Martian I am able to use my knowledge of the English version to cross the gaps I don't yet understand.

World War Z is the third of the three way tie for favorite. I wanna say I read it for the first time in 2011 or 2012. It was before the movie came out, and I remember taking it with me to read at church camp one summer (it was a long bus ride to North Carolina, and I had to hide it from the chaperones all week). Every time I reread it, I pick up on some new aspect I missed the first dozen times around, so I'm excited to see if I come to any revelations in Spanish.

Books I want to get

Artemis and Project Hail Mary by Andy Weir

Devolution by Max Brooks

Redshirts by John Scalzi

A family friend of mine moved to the United States from Honduras in her late 20s and learned English in part by watching Sesame Street with her kids, so I want to get Spanish versions of the Hunger Games trilogy and the five Percy Jackson and the Olympians books because I figure YA novels might help me learn Spanish easier than adult fiction. Right now I'm looking for simple titles that I'm already familiar with, but eventually I want to start buying Spanish books I've never read in English so I can fly without a net. My background is in Latin American Spanish, specifically Cuban Spanish, but my copy of El Marciano is European, so it shouldn't make too much of a difference which translations I buy (just so long as I keep series grouped together in sets so they're all the same)

[thelostdreamsthings]

Lindsey Graham Calls On The United States To Bomb Every Country In The World

WASHINGTON, D.C. — As tensions escalate in the Middle East following the deadly terrorist attacks by Hamas on Israel, South Carolina Senator Lindsey Graham sought to resolve the conflict and restore peace to the region by calling for the United States to begin bombing every country in the world.

"It's the only solution," Graham said to reporters while advocating for even more hostilities. "If we want to restore peace throughout the world, the only realistic answer is to lay waste to every single nation around the globe."

"What about nations that have no involvement in the conflict?" asked reporter Michael Fuller.

"They're all involved," Graham answered. "Bomb ‘em all. Gone. All of ‘em. Bombs, bombs, bombs. Burn it all down, baby!"

"What about Paris?" Fuller asked.

"Have you seen the demographics of their population?" Graham responded. "Bomb ‘em."

"Montreal?" Fuller pressed.

"Make it a parking lot," Graham said resolutely.

"Tokyo?" Fuller asked, finally.

"Glass the place," Graham answered.

When asked what he expected to be the result of so much widespread bombing, Graham was indifferent. "They'll all know who's boss," he said. "Nothing will stabilize the entire world and ensure the safety of the American people like making every single country in the world hate the United States. On top of all that, some of us will also make massive amounts of money, so I'm very much in favor of this idea."

"The old world is dying, and the new world struggles to be born: now is the time of monsters."

Antonio Gramsci

[warningsine]

WEST PALM BEACH, Fla. (AP) — Donald Trump was the target Sunday of “what appears to be an attempted assassination” at his golf club in West Palm Beach, Florida, the FBI said, just nine weeks after the Republican presidential nominee survived another attempt on his life. The former president said he was safe and well, and authorities held a man in custody.

U.S. Secret Service agents posted a few holes up from where Trump was playing noticed the muzzle of an AK-style rifle sticking through the shrubbery that lines the course, roughly 400 yards away.

An agent fired and the gunman dropped the rifle and fled in an SUV, leaving the firearm behind along with two backpacks, a scope used for aiming and a GoPro camera, Palm Beach County Sheriff Ric Bradshaw said. The man was later taken into custody in a neighboring county.

It was the latest jarring moment in a campaign year marked by unprecedented upheaval. On July 13, Trump was shot during a rally in Butler, Pennsylvania, and a bullet grazed his ear. Eight days later, Democratic President Joe Biden withdrew from the race, giving way for Vice President Kamala Harris to become the party’s nominee.

And it was sure to add to the questions about Secret Service protective operations after the agency’s admitted failures in preventing the attempted assassination of Trump this summer.

In an email to supporters, Trump said: “There were gunshots in my vicinity, but before rumors start spiraling out of control, I wanted you to hear this first: I AM SAFE AND WELL!” He wrote: “Nothing will slow me down. I will NEVER SURRENDER!”

He returned to Mar-a-Lago, his private club in Palm Beach where he lives, according to a person familiar with Trump’s movements who was not authorized to discuss them publicly and spoke on condition of anonymity.

It was not immediately clear whether the incident would affect his campaign schedule. He was set to speak from Florida about cryptocurrency live on Monday night on the social media site X for the launch of his sons’ crypto platform. He planned a town hall Tuesday in Flint, Michigan, with his former press secretary, Arkansas Gov. Sarah Huckabee Sanders, followed by a rally Wednesday on New York’s Long Island.

Trump’s running mate, Ohio Sen. JD Vance, said in a post online: “I’m glad President Trump is safe. I spoke to him before the news was public and he was, amazingly, in good spirits.”

Biden and Harris were briefed and would be kept updated on the investigation. The White House said they were “relieved” to know Trump is safe.

Harris, in a statement, also said “violence has no place in America.”

In the aftermath, Trump checked in with allies, including Vance, South Carolina Sen. Lindsey Graham and several Fox News hosts.

Fox News host Sean Hannity recounted on air his conversation with Trump and the former president’s golf partner, Steve Witkoff.

They told Hannity they had been on the fifth hole and about to go up to putt when they heard a “pop pop, pop pop.” Within seconds, he said Witkoff recounted, Secret Service agents “pounced on” Trump and “covered him” to protect him.

Trump had returned to Florida this weekend from a West Coast swing that included a Friday night rally in Las Vegas and a Utah fundraiser. His campaign had not advised about any public plans for Trump on Sunday. He often spends the morning playing golf, before having lunch at the club, one of three he owns in the state.

He has had a stepped-up security footprint since the assassination attempt in July. When he has been at Trump Tower in New York, parked dump trucks have formed a wall outside the building. At outdoor rallies, he now speaks from behind an enclosure of bulletproof glass.

The Florida golf course was partially shut down for Trump as he played, but there are several areas around the perimeter of the property where golfers are visible from the fence line. Secret Service agents and officers in golf carts and on ATVs generally secure the area several holes ahead and behind Trump when he plays. Agents also usually bring an armored vehicle onto the course to shelter Trump quickly should a threat arise.

The Palm Beach County sheriff said the entire golf course would have been lined with law enforcement if Trump were the president, but because he is not, “security is limited to the areas that the Secret Service deems possible.”

“I would imagine that the next time he comes to the golf course, there will probably be a little more people around the perimeter,” Bradshaw said. “But the Secret Service did exactly what they should have done, they provided exactly what the protection should have been and their agent did a fantastic job.”

Former presidents and their spouses have Secret Service protection for life, but the security around former presidents varies according to threat levels and exposure, with the toughest typically being in the immediate aftermath of their leaving office.

Trump’s protective detail has been higher than some other former presidents because of his high visibility and his campaign to seek the White House again.

The man in custody was Ryan Routh, three law enforcement officials told the AP. The officials who identified the suspect spoke on the condition of anonymity because they were not authorized to discuss the ongoing investigation.

The FBI was leading the investigation and was working to determine any motive. Attorney General Merrick Garland was receiving regular updates. Agents with the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives were helping investigate.

“The FBI has responded to West Palm Beach Florida and is investigating what appears to be an attempted assassination of former President Trump,” the bureau said.

News reporters were not with Trump on Sunday. Bucking tradition, Trump’s campaign has not arranged to have a protective pool of reporters travel with him, as is standard for major party nominees and for the president. Harris does not have a protective pool at all times, but does allow reporters to travel with her for public events.

Martin County Sheriff William D. Snyder said the suspect was apprehended within minutes of the FBI, Secret Service and Palm Beach County Sheriff’s Office putting out a “very urgent BOLO” — or “be on the lookout” alert detailing the specific vehicle sought, license plate number and description of the occupant.

Snyder said his deputies “immediately flooded” northbound I-95, deploying to every exit between the Palm Beach County line to the south and St. Lucie County line to the north.

“One of my road patrol units saw the vehicle, matched the tag and we set up on the vehicle,” Snyder said, “We pinched in on the car, got it safely stopped and got the driver in custody.”

Snyder told WPTV that the suspect “was not armed when we took him out of the car.”

The man had a calm, flat demeanor and showed little emotion when he was stopped by police, Snyder said, saying the suspect did not question why he was being pulled over.

“He never asked, ‘what is this about?’ Obviously, law enforcement with long rifles, blue lights, a lot going on. He never questioned it,” Snyder said.

[cinematicendevaourz]

Beetlejuice Beetlejuice #CVReview

I took a trip to Pooler, GA and I gotta say CGA was right yet again : anything outside of ATL is the real Georgia, and ... yeah, the whole thing is a flyover.

The caucazoid pop. here are standoffish and rude. The negroids, more trusting and kinder than anywhere else in the States. That's not always a good thing, though ...

Anyways, after an uneventful day at the Staff Zone day labor dispatch office in SAV, I recognized that the city was more interested in taking money from me than helping me make it, so I made quick moves to get a ticket out of here to the Carolinas and make a trip to "The Tallest IMAX Screen" in the world - because I figured it was now or never, since I will noy be back to GA after this final trip - since there's nothing here.

As a Hollywood bred cinephile (and a REGAL unlimited subscriber) I have to say IMAX been a rip-off. I usually enjoy other PLF screens because their wider (i.e. RPX, Cinemark XD ...) and cost less at the box office.

IMAX may be overhyped but I sat in those small as seats at the El Capitan when "Cap: Civil War" dropped, so nothing was stopping me from getting this done, even the bloated $26/ticket price tag. Or the fact the only two films playing this week was that redneck Speilberg flick "Twisters" and Tim Burton's chick flick "Beetlejuice Beetlejuice".

I chose the latter.

Donna Summer just cant win since her catalogue went up for grabs, I guess. First that horrible performance by an overweight Summer Walker in "Spinning Gold" now Tim Burton lifts "Macarthur Park" and turns it into the new "Day-O" bullshit.

The Soul Train bit was very out of place and looked like cultural appropriation as well too.

So this is what happens when Burton tries to get woke and diverse enough only to have negroids in his film as dancing/singing sambos.

The only people in the cast who weren't annoying were Jenna Ortega (who just played another bratty teen) and Willem Dafoe, who was actually flexing another side of his acting chops I hadn't seen before in pure comedy, not unintentional.

Michael Keaton was as off-putting as he always was and the fact that he was still trying to marry a young Wynona Ryder in the first film is still weird. That sequence is repeated here nearly three times over with the marriages between mother and daughter in "Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice" , but it just seems like an over-correction.

*While the dream sequence was occurring by the way, I couldn't help but think that Keaton and Ryder in the film must have looked oddly like Burton and Bonham-Carter on their wedding day.

The jokes were woke and tacky. Jenna Ortega went the " la raza " route with her love interests being pale as ever, while she did Brazil-face for some reason.

Theroux was the picture of the spineless manipulative, dickface women have to settle with marrying today in Western culture, since real men like myself aren't falling for that trap anymore. O'Hara was the same annoying opportunist in the first film, now shedding light on Ryder's issues raising an "obnoxius, goth girl" herself.

Yeah, "Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice" is Mommy-Daughter matinee. A ageist marriage fantasy for little goth girls everywhere who want to bring bad boy demons home and a loose cautionary tale on why they should not.

Even with some cool animated claymation sequences (the plane crash, Saturn's moon, the snake monster), Burton's bread and butter in "Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice" was not enough to make a great film.

Barely a laugh from the audience. Some of the marriage jokes knocked it out the park, but only because they write themselves.

The rest of the audience could give a shit less about dated references and Donna Summer, like I could give a shit less about this movie.

And how did Monica Belluci get casted. I liked the live Sally Finkelstein idea, but at this point Franken-Weenie pastiches are old hat for Burton and no amount of nostalgia could save this picture for those of us who enjoyed his other projects or I believe for those who actually liked the first film in this duology.

The only reason I saw this film was because it was an excuse to visit The World's Tallest IMAX (I swear the one's in NY, CA, and FL are bigger and better). Other than that I don't believe "Beetlejuice Beetlejuice" should be viewed in any format, PLF or otherwise.

Seeing "The Crow" again, but in IMAX would have been a better choice aesthetic wise

- but the box office pulled it for this waste of money - from the studio to every audience seat filled.

-

C.V.R. The Bard

5th/Sept. 2k24

[psalm22-6]

Filming of the barricades sequence for Les Misérables (1917) and the 71st New York Infantry Regiment

The Fox Studio's production of Les Miserables staring William Farnum premiered in December 1917. They must have filmed things very quickly in those days because in October 1917 they were still filming the barricades sequence! October 20th The Exhibitor's Herald (a trade magazine of the film industry) reported:

In order to secure men with military training to represent the French guard in the filming of the Willian Fox spectacle, "Les Miserables," at Fort Lee, NJ recently, a battalion of soldiers from the 71st regiment, encamped at Van Cortlandt Park, New York, was borrowed for the occasion. While most of the 71st regiment men were in French uniforms, others which did not necessitate their appearance before the camera were detailed to other work, and during a lull in picture taking these men in khaki conceived the happy idea of having their pictures taken in the "Paris" street, where they expected shortly to be seen in reality. Cameras were produced and snapshots taken of the soldiers sitting at Parisian cafe tables, under awnings and before signs in French.

Remember the bolded part for later. Here is an image of the insurgents defending the barricade:

And here's an image of the barricade overrun by National Guardsmen, published in January 1918 in Photoplay Magazine:

On the left is the Corinthe cafe. Lots of promotion for this movie focused on the accuracy of this set, especially the cobblestone streets. For example, the October 1917 edition of the Motion Picture News said this:

One frenzied guest [a reporter visiting the set] exclaimed, "So this is Paris!" as he stubbed a toe on a protruding cobblestone of the Rue de Something or Something Else, a street the pavement of which bore a close resemblance to the surfaces of Broadway and Seventh avenue in their present state of construction. [. . .] There were a number of cafes with tables out in front. Seated around them were all the gentry of the Paris, but they never drank the brownish stuff in their glasses. We asked one fellow why, and his reply was "ginger ale."

The December issue of The Moving Picture World, reported that "Nine city blocks were built at a cost of $50,000, and so perfectly was it all reproduced that French military officers visiting New York have insisted that it was not a reproduction at all but Paris itself" and that there were 1,000 extras in the role of the people of Paris, in addition to the soldiers.

Groups of uniformed soldiers rode here and there, stunning figures in their Guard uniforms of red and blue and white, and while to them it was mimic and in a measure miniature warfare, it also was in the nature of rehearsal for sterner tasks. 

And here are all the extras from the 71st regiment, with Willian Farnum in the middle:

After the Sammies had garbed themselves in the fashion of National Guardsmen of old France, it may have been "Les Miserables" they were playing in, but there was nothing miserable about the way they flung themselves about the fight on the barricade in the streets of this transplanted Paris.

The caption from Photoplay magazine also tells us that the 71st were heading to France via Fort Wadsworth South Carolina and that they took this job to make some tobacco money. Here's a photo of a member of the 71st leaving for Fort Wadsworth:

The October 1917 edition of the Motography (which stated that the film depicted the July Revolution) said that the regiment had gone to Fort Wadsworth and added this additional information about filming:

They worked from nine o'clock one morning until two p.m. the following day. Just a half hour before quitting time came the climax. Right over the top of a twelve-foot barricade they went as hard as and as fast as they could go. While, of course, the whole affair was mimic warfare and the soldiers were not for the moment clad in the khaki of their country, that battalion from the 71st went other the top as though the Boche were on the other side and they were determined to "get" him. After the cameras had ceased to grind, the men were drawn up and Captain Schroeder of Company A, of the 71st, made a speech. He thanked Mr. Lloyd [the movie's director] and Mr. Farnum in behalf of his men for the royal treatment they had received and especially for affording them the opportunity of going over the top.

"Over the top" is in reference to the trench warfare of WWI. But remember how in the first article it was mentioned that soldiers took photos on set? Well that led to this article in The Laurens Advertiser, 4 September 1918:

Government Officials have at last traced down the origin of the sensational reports that the famous Seventy-first Regiment of New York had been sent "Over There" last August, when as a matter of fact it was still in the United States. The rumor was a most persistent one and many newspapers and magazines actually printed pictures of members of this regiment taken in Paris. It all happened in this way: William Fox, the motion picture producer, was engaged in making a photodrama of Victor Hugo's greatest work, Les Miserables, with William Farnum playing the part of the immortal "Jean Valjean." A section of Victor Hugo's Paris was built "somewhere in New Jersey," and to show the troops fighting in the streets of Paris against the revolutionists, a battalion or two of the Seventy-first regiment was used. While the soldiers were waiting to make the scenes in which they appeared, someone produced kodaks and began making snap-shots of each other. The soldiers were "over there" in New Jersey several days and many pictures were taken with the streets of Paris as the background. The members of the Seventy-first quickly realized the foreign look and sent copies to friends and sweethearts. The sweethearts and friends sent these to magazines and newspapers as proof positive that the Seventy-first was actually in Paris and in this way the rumor started. A magnificent picturization of Les Miserables, produced by William Fox with William Farnum playing the part of the immortal Jean Valjean will be shown at the Opera House Thursday September 5th. Les Miserables comes direct from the eight weeks run at the Lyric Theatre, New York City.

So is it true? Or is that article just an advertisement for the showing for the film? Only semi-related but here is an advertisement for a Kodak camera printed in a movie magazine and featuring soldiers writing home:

I would love to find one of those photographs of the soldiers on set (since it says that they were sent to newspapers and magazines) or even to find an example of an erroneous report of the 71st being sent abroad. I haven't had much luck so far but maybe I will come back to it later or if I put this out there maybe someone else will find something.

[morbidology]

Growing up in the projects in New York, Jonathan Luna always dreamed of going to college and making his family proud. He graduated from Fordham University and the law school at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. He eventually settled down in Elkridge, Baltimore, where he got married and had two sons while working as an Assistant United States Attorney.

The 4th of December, 2003, started just like any other day. Jonathan kissed his family goodbye before departing for work. He had been working on a trial which involved two men who were suspected in running a drug ring. One of the men was also facing a murder charge. 

Jonathan had spent the entire evening working on the case and left a voice message to a co-worker at approximately 9pm that night, saying he was ready to go home and that he would see him the following morning. They were going to offer the two men a plea deal and he would work on it at home throughout the night so it would be ready for the morning. According to the clocking out system in his office car park, Jonathan didn’t leave the officer until 11:38pm, leaving behind his phone and glasses, which he needed to drive. What happened next is shrouded in speculation.

At around 1am, Jonathan’s car entered Delaware where $200 was lifted from an ATM. He then crossed into New Jersey and on to Pennsylvania at around 4am. His E-Z Pass was used on the I-95 into Delaware but after this, he started to purchase toll tickets. His car was then parked behind a Sensenig & Weaver in Denver, Pennsylvania. 

At around 5:30am, a worker of Sensenig & Weaver arrived to discover the discarded car with blood smeared all over the door and the front of the car. When the worker looked into the car window, he found a large puddle of blood on the back seat and back footwell. The car was partially in a front creek and underneath it, they discovered Jonathan’s bloody body. Jonathan had sustained 36 stab wounds with his own penknife. 

The pathologist working on the case said that his hands had been “shredded” and that his scrotum and throat had both been slashed before he drowned to death in the creek. Inside the car investigators found that the purchased toll tickets had blood smeared on them, indicating that he was already injured when purchasing the tickets. Additionally, the puddle of blood in the back seat indicated that he hadn’t been driving the car, but somebody else.

While the death was initially ruled as a homicide, “law enforcement sources” soon began to speculate that he had committed suicide and thus a smear campaign on Jonathan’s reputation was born. It was soon reported that Jonathan had most likely been involved in a robbery case in which $36,000 went missing. The Baltimore Sun implied that Jonathan was involved in the robbery and had ended his life because he feared losing his job. Everybody that knew Jonathan had nothing but pleasant words to say about him and found the allegations to be “a well timed hit job on Luna’s reputation.” The FBI ascertained that Jonathan had ended his own life but the local Lancaster counter authorities were adamant that he had been murdered.

What happened to Jonathan Luna from the moment he left his place of employment until he ended up stabbed and slashed in a murky creek still remains a mystery. While the FBI believes he ended his own life, this leaves too many question. For one, how could he have driven approximately 95 miles without his glasses? Why did he switch from using his E-Z Pass to toll tickets? Why would he have stabbed himself 36 times as well as slashing his scrotum, throat, and hands? What would motivate him to end his life when he was known by all to be an upbeat, full of life, family man? 

The case still remains open with a $100,000 reward for information leading to a conviction.

[skipperlandvik]

THE BASICS

Name: Rowan "Skipper" Landvik.

Age: Thirty-Three.

Gender: cis Female, She/Her.

Orientation: Bisexual, Biromantic, definitely probably still closeted.

Occupation: Park Ranger.

Birthday: July 22nd, 1982.

Zodiac Sign: Leo.

Location: Marshall Island, South Carolina.

Birthplace: Japan.

Vehicle: 1969 Boxwood Green Ford Bronco with Whiskey Interior.

THE PHYSIQUE

Eye Color: Blue.

Natural Hair Color: Blonde.

Height: 5′ 6″.

Body Type: Athletic.

Allergies: Raspberries.

Dominant Hand: Right.

Scars: Likely tons of miscellaneous scars from her time in basic training.

Tattoos: Surprisingly none.

Piercings: Basic earlobe piercings and maybe an old belly button piercing because she was once a dumb rebellious teenager.

THE INTRODUCTION

tw: military, death.

Following her dad was something she was born to do — or so many people thought. She followed him growing up, from base to base, from home to home, and state to state. When he was deployed, somehow, Rowan still felt like she was following him, tracing the footsteps he left behind with a careful eye, determined to be someone who would live up to the expectations he left trailing behind him. She never felt like she could climb high enough for his standards, ever growing from the moment her parents brought her home to the military base in Japan. Despite the dick she grew to learn her dad was, Rowan still managed to fall right into the path he'd carved out for her. Army brat. Army grunt. Army for life. She'd signed up for the military as soon as she turned eighteen. No questions asked. It was all she knew in life and that didn't stop just because society declared her a legal adult and worthy of choosing her own path in life. Basic training came and went and with it came the nickname Skipper, something that was so wildly a thing that her dad hated that she found herself sticking to it. The more she sank into her life in the army, the more she grew to resent her dad, until inevitably she barely spoke a few words to him when she'd go home to visit for holidays. She was determined to be better than him, to do better than. Once her first four year deployment was up, Rowan found herself in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, trying her best to integrate into a society that she was never really a part of in the first place. She finally had the chance to work toward a degree, find friends, date, and be better and more successful at life than her dad ever was. But something about seeing what she'd seen, living through the moments she had in the last four years, being thrown from a lifetime of strict routine to the lackadaisical manners of a college student took it's toll on her and after two years, she dropped out of school, reenlisted, and left town without a word (or, at least, nothing more than a letter) to those she left behind. Two years into her second deployment brought about the death of her dad. While on leave for his service, Rowan found the nearest club to drink all of the trauma she refused to acknowledge away and ended up going home with a man who, she's learn, is essentially the complete opposite of her. It was a one night stand, nothing she was a stranger too, and the morning after she went about her way, trading numbers even though she had no intention of calling and returning to service once her leave was up. Then, at twenty-six years old, mid-service overseas, after what was supposed to be a clear cut one night stand she was able to bury her trauma in and leave it there, she discovered that she was pregnant. And in true like-father-like-daughter fashion, she knew the military was her priority. Deep down, she likely made the decision because she didn't want to be like her father, but regardless, when she eventually gave birth to her son, August, she handed him over to his father and returned to the only life she'd ever known a few weeks later. At first, they tried video calls, but eventually Rowan's life got too busy for them, missing them more often than not until they both realized that August was just a baby and didn't even care about them anyway. Outside of when she finally left the Army for good and her mom convinced the man who was supposed to have been a one and done for her to bring her son, then four, to tap her out, she had very little interaction with him. After almost a year of fumbling and trying to get her footing in civlian life once more, Rowan finds herself in Marshall Island, attempting to be a part of her son's life in some way and doing the absolute worst job at it.

tldr: Following her dad was something she was born to do or so many people thought. She followed him growing up, from base to base, from home to home, and state to state. When he was deployed, somehow, Rowan still felt like she was following him. She’s ex-military and ex-army brat herself, her dad was a dick but expected her to follow in his footsteps and she did. He died when she was mid-service, she got leave for his funeral, got messy because trauma, banged a dude who was polar opposite of her (probably artsy, sensitive, chill dude), got pregnant. gave him the baby and returned to her service asap. They did video calls with the baby but that faded off. He basically had full custody because her priority was the military. Though her mom did convince the dad and baby (probably a toddler by that point) to come tap her out which she probably had big emotions about. So now she’s post-military, trying to get her footing as a civilian, attempting to be a part of her son’s life in someway?? But probably doing a bad job at it. Also trying to beat generational trauma

THE HEADCANONS

Her name is Skipper bc in basic training they teased her for being Barbie's little sister and she said 'as long as I can be Skipper' and it caught on. she started to go by it and now just solely goes by it except when people ask why she always gives a different reason (among some of them; she just loves peanut butter that much, she has a habit of skipping out on one night stands, etc etc). Also, her dad hated the name and she hated him so.

She only ever wears slip on boots because lacing up boots causes her a ton of panic and anxiety and dumb memories from her time in active duty.

Most of the time she will make stupid extravagant breakfast because it's not dry oatmeal or freeze-dried eggs and it centers her back to the reality she's currently in and not the one that exists in her memories.

She always kept a small polaroid, probably the only picture, of her and her son after she gave birth to him in the pocket of her uniform while deployed. Now that she's stateside again, she keeps the photo tucked in the visor of her driver's seat.

[arthurdrakoni]

Royal Banner of House Washington

This is the Royal Banner of the House of Washington. It comes from a world where the early days of the United States were a lot more unstable than in our world. The future of the young nation was in jeopardy, and a strong leader was needed. To this end, congress asked George Washington to be crowned king, at least temporarily. Although reluctant at first, Washington agreed and was crowned King George I of House Washington. The American government continued to function as it always did; three branches with check and balances. The main difference was that the king now functioned as the executive branch, and had a bit more power than the position of president.

Washington was able to quell the unrest and brought an era of relative peace and prosperity to the United Kingdom of America. Though their troubles were behind them, it was a bittersweet time for the American people. Their fight to throw off an oppressive king 3000 miles away had ended with a new king being crowned in America. Throughout the streets, there were whispers of a desire to return America to a republic. For his part, Washington was a fairly humble king, and was supportive of these sentiments.  

Washington died without leaving any heirs. During his last days, Washington expressed hope that this would lead to a return to republicanism. Unfortunately, congress did not share this sentiment. It was feared that, without a strong authority figure like a king, America would descend into chaos once again. Thus, congress sought out Washington's closest surviving male relative: George Washington Parke Custis. At the tender age of eighteen he was crowned King George II of House Washington. 

George II lacked the charisma and experience of his more famous step-grandfather. Things were not looking good on the international front. Britain viewed the American monarchy as illegitimate and a slap in the face. This meant that Anglo-American relations never really healed like they did in our world. Relations with France were lukewarm at best. The leaders of the French Revolution wanted nothing to do with the monarchist America, but Napoleon was willing to compromise on a few occasions. Most notably, when he sold the Louisiana Territory to America.  

Things really came to a head during the War of 1812. The British were much more focused on fighting America than they were in our world. New England, along with New York and New Jersey, used the war as an opportunity to declare independence. The British provided support to New England as a means of getting back at America. Republican sentiment has always been strongest in New England, and they weren't too pleased with how George II had handled the Embargo Act. By the time the war was over, the Republic of New England had gained international recognition. 

The War of 1812 ended in a decisive British victory. America was forced to cede the Louisiana Territory, as well as large chunks of Georgia and South Carolina, back to the British. Thomas Jefferson, along with several supporters of republicanism, had formed their own nation in the Appalachian Mountains to protest the monarchy. Though a rump United Kingdom of America still exists, it is a shadow of its former glory. America never got the chance to become a great power. 

The American Revolution is not viewed as a symbol liberty and freedom by this world. Rather, it is seen as a cautionary tale about the fragility of revolution and the dangers of corruption.  

The Royal Banner of the House of Washington depicts George Washington as a new Hercules. Initially, the banner was considered incredibly scandalous for depicting Washington in such little clothes. For his part, Washington didn't actually want a royal banner, but nevertheless he appreciated the design

Link to the original flag on my blog: https://drakoniandgriffalco.blogspot.com/2017/07/the-royal-banner-of-house-washington.html?m=0